


I believe in unexpected and capricious friendships

by inthisdive



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthisdive/pseuds/inthisdive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best part about the Twilight gig - aside from the cash, the locked-down franchise, and oh yeah, the cash - was having a brand-new excuse to hang with Catherine again pretty much 24/7. They were having a coffee and a smoke and bitching about the cold when it happened. Title comes from “…. and these are just some of the things I believe” by Staceyann Chin. (this was written in 2009)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I believe in unexpected and capricious friendships

*

Nikki had been stoked that Angarano was dating and even that he wanted to tell her all about it until she heard Kristen's name for like the sixtieth time in one conversation. No one could be that great. No one deserved that level of _gush_ \- and this was all kind of lame. Like high school (when she’d gone to high school). Thanks to that phone call, Nikki remembered why Emile had been the only person she kept in touch with post- _Dogtown_. No drama. No gush. 

Michael didn't even notice when she hung up on him. 

*

The best part about the _Twilight_ gig - aside from the cash, the locked-down franchise, and oh yeah, the cash - was having a brand-new excuse to hang with Catherine again pretty much 24/7. They were having a coffee and a smoke and bitching about the cold when it happened.

Dark hair. Husky voice. Piercing, make you weak-kneed eyes and standing right in front of them like her lips could be blue, but you wouldn’t say a damn thing about it. "Hey, Cath.”

"Kristen," Catherine greeted warmly, smiling. "You're early."

"Don't I fucking know it," she muttered, scowling in that good-natured way that said _no really, don’t I fucking know it, but you’re my boss so let’s play nice_. Her hair was mussed, dark eye makeup smudges under her eyes, and when her glance skirted over to take in Nikki, Nikki's throat dried of any and all words. 

Girlfriend was _hot_. 

*

That first read-through was a blur: Kristen's soft, dark lips; the way that Rob kind of... _draped_ himself around desks and tables and people, so casual he might as well be asleep; Nikki trying to remember everything Michael had ever said about his girlfriend - what Emile had said about her; and trying to figure out a) why they'd never met, b) why Kristen was so alluring, and c) why she couldn't... 

"Something up, Nikki?"

... Take her eyes off her. 

"I'm cool," she assured Catherine, hurriedly flicking pages in the thick, drama-heavy script, locating her place and reading her line. She couldn't help but glance at Kristen as she delivered it, slow and measured. 

Kristen smirked.

*

 _Radiohead_ , Nikki noticed from the tinny overspill of sound from Kristen's iPod. Jesus, they should just get married right now. "Karma Police," she offered, striding up to her and resisting the urge to check her out from head to toe. 

"Guilty," Kristen agreed, and Nikki thought her smile could just about light up the pissy, annoying weather. One slender hand removed an earbud and offered it to Nikki. Nikki took it and sat. 

"And we have crashed her party..." Nikki's singing was soft, mournful, and earned a sideways glance from Kristen. Nikki raised a brow. She could sell the emotion even if she sang out of tune. Take that. Everything was more comfortable, more dreamy and strange, with Radiohead. She could get behind that. 

"This is what you'll get," Kristen sang, joining in, and it was just as emotional and just as technically average as Nikki. Nikki lit a cigarette and passed it to her, and they harmonized for the next three minutes. 

When it was done, Kristen took the last drag on the smoke, said "Nikki Reed. I like you," and as she stubbed the butt out with her heel - movement right from the hip - and walked off, Nikki's eyelashes fluttered.

That night, they wrote a song together. 

*

"So tell me about you and Angarano," Nikki asked weeks later, blonded and freezing, holding Kristen's hand for warmth. 

"You know." Kristen shrugged. "He buzzes like a fridge and he's like a detuned radio."

Nikki laughed. "And your Hitler hairdo makes him feel ill."

Kristen’s laugh was a reward: low and throaty and so unintentionally alluring that it almost made Nikki’s head spin. “We’re such dorks,” Kristen pointed out. “We’re quoting song lyrics.” 

“At least we’re not quoting Fall Out Boy,” Nikki replied, and screeched when Kristen tackled her, yelling “THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES!” at the top of her lungs. 

* 

Nikki and Kristen had common ground, much to Catherine’s relief, in the way that neither girl actually liked to party. They weren’t, you know, Rob. They had movie fests and they drank coffee and they played guitar and they wrote, and they were quiet(ish) and easy and mellow and no trouble at all.

That all meant nothing the night she and Kristen snuck out and away, out of town together. Nikki was still blond and hating it, so her hair was tied up and away. Kristen looked disheveled in that honest, sexy way that was apparently ‘default Kristen’ and they drove for hours and then danced all night.

With boys, with girls, with each other. If there was a beat, they would dance. If there wasn’t a beat, they’d make one _up_ , and they’d dance. Nikki was wild, for once, and Kristen was wild, for once, and they danced in flowing form from hip to toe, shoulders back, hands clasped and in the air. They danced until the sweat was pouring from them, until their hands were slick and they slipped from each other’s grip, until skin slid on skin like it was pornographic.

“Done?” Kristen yelled over the music, and Nikki nodded. Tired.

They turned in unison to leave the dance floor, falling into step. Kristen slipped her hand in Nikki’s back pocket, and they walked out into frigid, startling air. 

They smoked, and hit an all-night coffee bar, and got back into the car. 

“I’m too old for this,” Kristen muttered, stealing a sip of Nikki’s espresso while she drove. Nikki just smiled and rested her head on Kristen’s shoulder.

*

Early morning, and they’re used to each other by now, filming almost wrapped: Nikki is awake and bright-eyed, and Kristen is _so_ not; Michael had visited the night before, but Kristen’s always a wreck in the morning, a good old hot mess. Nikki doesn’t worry about Angarano anymore. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Nikki teased, and Kristen stuck out her tongue, hands-on-hips and hair in her face. 

Nikki laughed, and Kristen glared and muttered, "I am not in the fucking mood to do this,” and before Nikki could ask what _this_ was, exactly, Kristen leaned forward and kissed her. 

It was a frozen moment, a moment of nothing but a vacuum of touch and taste; Kristen’s lips were hot and dry and her tongue was electric; Nikki grasped a hand in Kristen’s hair, tugged her closer, closed her eyes; she could feel Kristen’s breasts, a presence against her own. A moment not lost, but _right_ exactly right, all about Kristen and about Nikki and they fit, they fit like perfection. 

“You seem in the mood,” Nikki said, breathless and loving it as they parted, no questions required.

“Too early,” Kristen explained, almost complained but for the glint in her eyes. But she really didn’t complain when Nikki slipped her hand under layers of coats and shirts and undershirts to stroke the smooth skin of her stomach, and Nikki left trailed patterns of goose bumps around Kristen’s navel.

The morning was pale, and they began with it.

*


End file.
